


piqued

by waveydnp



Series: dee and fi [2]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 2009 Era (Phandom), Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, Gender or Sex Swap, Masturbation, Sexuality Crisis, YouTube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 09:38:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15264660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveydnp/pseuds/waveydnp
Summary: in another universe dan and phil are girls named dee and fi. dee has a boyfriend she doesn't love anymore and a big crush on someone else. that someone is her favourite youtuber, amazingfiona





	piqued

His arm rests around her shoulders, heavy and too warm and too close. She wants to scootch away, so she shifts her body on the sofa, hoping he’ll know, hoping he’ll somehow understand that she just needs a little more space.

He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. He never seems to know what she’s thinking, not even when she’s making it plain as bloody day. That’s not who he is, really. He’s a nice enough guy, but he doesn’t really know her anymore. 

And she just— she doesn’t care. She doesn’t care enough to put the effort in any longer. 

Instead of pulling his arm off, he squeezes tighter, pulling her in even closer. His eyes are still glued to the telly. It’s a subconscious movement, his instinct at any given moment to close the distance between them.

And fuck, that makes her feel guilty. So guilty that she lays her head against his chest even though it makes her skin prickle a little. He’s nice. He doesn’t deserve a girlfriend who’s apathetic at best.

She’s glad she’s dressed down today though, leggings and a hoodie, hair in a ponytail and no makeup in sight. She knows he finds her attractive regardless but he hasn’t tried to start anything today and she’s desperately hoping he won’t. She’s not sure she can keep finding excuses to say no. He’s going to catch on eventually. Periods don’t usually last for weeks on end.

There are things she could do of course, to satisfy him without having to really give herself to him, but she doesn’t even want to do that. She just— doesn’t want him like that anymore. She’s not even in denial at this point. She feels it keenly every time he touches her, every time his name pops up on her phone. 

She knows she has to end it, because it’s not fair to him and it’s not fair to her. The thought has settled itself in her brain after months of stubborn resistance, of clinging to the hope that she’d get over it and be in love again like she was in the beginning.

It hasn’t happened, in fact she falls a little more out of love with him every day. She looks longingly at the coffee table beside the sofa where her laptop sits. Not only is she falling out of love with him but it’s very possible she’s feeling some very real feelings for someone else. It doesn’t matter that that someone else doesn’t know she exists, the feelings are there regardless and they’re only getting stronger. There’s no going back, and she knows that now for sure.

And the guilt intensifies. Really she’s just a coward. She knows he’ll be hurt and she doesn’t know how to do that. She doesn’t know how to say the words she wants to say to him, knowing they are the words he’ll remember her by, words that will break his heart and undo three years of mostly happy memories. 

She has to do it soon. The summer’s almost over, he’ll be leaving for school and she doesn’t think she could live with herself if she broke up with him over the phone. Or maybe she’s just a spineless bitch and that’s exactly what’s going to happen. She’s going to wait until she doesn’t have to see his face.

She barely notices when the movie ends because she’s so lost in her own thoughts, but she’s ripped out of them when she feels his hand cupping her breast through her hoodie. 

-

The relief when he leaves is so strong it’s almost violent. It’s quite possible that handjob was so lackluster that even he noticed something was wrong. 

He’d asked her afterwards if she was feeling alright. She’d lied of course, said she was just tired. 

It’s fine. It’s all fine, because he’s gone now and she doesn’t have to think about it for a while. She’s free to scoop up her laptop and snuggle down into bed with it, but not before taking off her bra and her leggings. She’s not planning on moving from this spot anytime soon. The real world holds no interest for her. 

There had been a time when the internet had been a fun hobby, a way to pass the time when she couldn’t spend it with her friends. Now it feels like all she has, the only place she can truly be herself. She still has friends, but they don’t understand her any more than her boyfriend does.

Maybe that’s her fault. Maybe if she actually tried to talk to them they would listen. The thing is, it’s hard to talk to people about something you don’t even fully understand yourself. It’s hard to put into words what is barely a fully formed thought in your own head. 

She pulls up YouTube before anything else, as she always does, crossing her metaphorical fingers. It’s been a while since she’s been able to click play on a new video from her favourite YouTuber. If it’s possible to miss someone you’ve never actually met or spoken to, then she does, and rather fiercely too. 

Her heart kicks against her ribs when she sees exactly what she’d been hoping for— a new video from AmazingFiona. She clicks on it, smiling before she even hears Fi’s voice.

It’s one of her more casual type of videos, just a vlog of her sat on her bed and chatting to the camera about her day. Yes, Dee knows Fi is just talking to a camera, but still it kind of feels like she’s talking to Dee herself. She feels like she’s watching a friend, just one she hasn’t actually met yet. 

She’s just so— perfect. Fuck it, she’s perfect. She’s funny and weird and creative, even when she’s just sat cross-legged in her bedroom telling a story about a weird guy she met on the bus and how she woke up with hayfever. 

She’s also so gorgeous it makes Dee’s stomach flutter just to look at her. And that’s the thing, really. That’s the thing that has her feeling like she can’t stay present in the same life she used to live. Because now she’s looking at a girl— a woman— on the internet and losing her train of thought just staring at her lips as she talks. 

She’d always assumed that the way her glances tended to linger on pretty girls was normal heterosexual behaviour. Girl crushes are a thing, she’d heard people talk about those all the time. It didn’t mean anything.

But oh, does it mean something. Right now it means everything. At this point in her life it’s pretty much all Dee can think about, even when she’s not alone in bed watching the hottest girl she’s ever laid eyes on and wanting her so bad it hurts. 

She is, though. She is in bed watching the hottest girl in the world and aching over how fucking perfect she is. The video plays through to the end and she restarts it instantly. She watches it through twice more, making sure she hears everything, takes in every little detail of what Fi is saying. 

On the fourth go, she starts to notice more. She notices that Fi is wearing what looks like pyjama shorts, blue and green plaid, loose and kind of short. She notices just how much of Fi’s long legs are on show. Fuck she’s got good legs, made somehow even hotter by the fact that they’re capped by feet clad in mismatched socks. 

She notices the shirt Fi is wearing too, a white spaghetti strap tank top so tight that—- Dee looks closer. Is that?

Fuck. It is. A rush of heat travels over Dee’s body when she realizes that, yes, she can clearly see the shape of Fi’s nipples through that flimsy fucking tank top. And now that she sees it she can’t see anything else. It looks like Fi isn’t even wearing a bra, like she’s still in the clothes she’d worn to bed. Like she’d woken up this morning and decided to just turn on the camera and film a video on a whim. 

Dee doesn’t make it through the fourth watch. She pauses the video on a particularly dazzling Fi smile, her favourite kind, the kind where she’s got the tip of her tongue poking out between her teeth. She pauses it and just stares.

She still feels like a perv when she does this, but by now she’s mostly gotten to the point of acceptance. Maybe she is pervy, but so be it. She’s not really hurting anyone. No one can ever or will ever know all the different ways she finds joy in Fi’s videos. 

At least not this way. This way is her secret. And this way is the reason she knows for sure that it’s not a girl crush. It’s just a fucking crush. She has a very real, very intense crush on Fi Lester, and this video honestly feels like a cheeky wink from god or the universe or something. This video and the way Fi looks in it feels like a sign that it’s ok that Dee is spreading her legs enough to get her hand between them, to slide her fingers under her knickers and touch herself where she’s already wet. 

It’s going to take even less time than it usually does, she can tell right away. She’s barely applying any pressure at all, barely moving her fingers at all and she already aches in the best way. She can feel the blood rushing down as she stares at the outline of Fi’s nipple and imagines what it would be like to put her mouth on it, to drag over it with the tip of her tongue. 

The longer she looks at the still frame of her smiling idol the easier it is to picture it all, to create an image in her mind of exactly what it would look like to have Fi underneath her, to push up her shirt and kiss between her breasts, kiss down her stomach to hips she can imagine being sharp beneath pale white skin.

Dee doesn’t even need the video anymore. She closes her eyes and her head is full of Fi’s smile and the full pink plush of her bottom lip and her long neck and her shiny black hair. She can hear Fi’s voice in her ear like she’s actually here in the bed with her, whispering all the filthy things they’re going to do to each other.

She squeezes her eyes shut tighter imagining pulling Fi’s pants down and pushing her legs open, kissing and licking and tasting her until she feels her come on her tongue. 

She imagines her fingers are Fi’s. She imagines Fi sliding her hand down and running a finger between her lips and dragging that wetness back up to her clit while sucking Dee’s neck in just the right spot. She can feel it, she swears she can feel and see and hear it and all and then—

And then she doesn’t have time to imagine anything else, because she’s biting her lip and flexing her thighs and pushing her hips up into the pulsing beneath her fingers. She pushes one finger inside herself and clenches around it and the feeling intensifies, spreading out down her legs and up into her stomach. 

She rides the waves of her orgasm for longer than she thinks should be possible. It had never been possible before and never so easy, not until she allowed herself to embrace that what makes her come so fucking hard she can’t breathe is Fi. When the waves start to ebb she pushes her laptop to the side and flips over onto her stomach, grinding down against the hand trapped between her pussy and the mattress and managing to send a few more shocks of pleasure coursing through her. 

She pulls her hand out of her knickers and turns her face away from where it’s been shoved into her pillow. Her arms reach up and hug that pillow underneath her head and she melts into her bed, taking time now to breathe, to calm the pounding of her heart. She feels like jelly, like every muscle in her body has been worked to capacity and she has no energy left for anything but closing her eyes and enjoying the aftermath of a feeling that good.

She can still see Fi when she closes her eyes. She can picture her laughing, see the way her eyes get squinty and hear the sound that laugh makes in the back of her throat. She wants to fall asleep with that image and that sound, but there’s something she needs to do first.

She rescues her macbook from the floor and pulls it back onto her lap, starting the video over from the beginning and watching it through one more time, trying to formulate the perfect comment. It’s silly but she can’t shake the notion that one day she could say the right thing at the right time and Fi might take notice.

Anyway, Fi deserves some love on her video, even if Dee’s reasons for it are selfish. She deserves to know that someone out there in the world thinks she’s lovely and talented and appreciates all the time and effort she puts in. 

Dee’s stomach turns when she scrolls down to see what other people haven’t commented. Fi may not have all that many subscribers, but apparently she still has enough to receive scores of lurid, downright nasty messages from trolls and assholes who have nothing better to do than make someone else’s day worse just for something to do. 

Dee knows that of course, she’s seen the kinds of things people say to and about Fi in her comments section, but this is worse. This is much much worse. She hates it and she knows the reason for it instantly. It’s the same reason she herself had found this video particularly good wank material. It’s as simple as the clothes Fi is wearing, and the way they fit her body.

Dee feels rage and guilt all at once. These people are pigs and not worth the space they take up, but is she really any different? Had she not objectified Fi because of the way her shirt clung to her curves, the way her shorts rode high on her thighs?

She’s not sure. She wants to think it’s different. It’s not just about Fi’s body, not by a long shot. And Dee would never say anything like the kinds of things her eyes are being subjected to now as she keeps scrolling. 

She doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t know what to do with all these suddenly negative feelings. It’s like whiplash after the intense pleasure she’d felt only minutes ago. 

Most of all she hates knowing that Fi will read this trash, that she might even take some of it to heart. That thought is what drives Dee to leave a completely different comment than the one she’d been planning to leave. She picks the a random heinous message, something about ‘less talk more tits’ and clicks reply. It’s not even the worst one she’s seen but she’s just acting on instinct now, desperate for a release from the poison building up inside her chest.

She types it out in angry bashes against her keyboard. It’s not eloquent or pithy or even clever, it’s just her leaving her rage on the page because sometimes she doesn’t know what to do with the ceaseless injustice of life as a woman and she’s too angry to be rational. She just wants to go out and find this guy and rip his fucking tongue out. Or well, maybe his fingers. Maybe both. She wants to take away his capacity to subject anyone else to his rubbish brain. 

_hey fuckface why don’t you do the world a favour and throw your computer off a bridge? just because no girl in the whole sodding world will ever feel sorry enough for you to show you her tits doesn’t give you the right to talk to fi like that. take out your magnifying glass, find your micro penis and go wank it out by yourself alone in the dark like the cave troll you are so none of us have to read your steaming piles of horseshit anymore, yeah? thanks._

She watches every single one of Fi’s videos before passing out that night, careful never to scroll down the page far enough to get to the comments.

-

She sleeps in late and ignores two calls from her soon-to-be ex. She spends the day in her knickers playing halo and trying not to think about how sad and fucking desperately alone she feels. 

She gets her computer out in the evening. It’s too soon to even dream of hoping for a new video, but that’s not going to stop her from checking. 

When she pulls up YouTube her stomach drops right out of her body. It’s not a new video, but it’s something. Something even better. 

She’s got a few replies to her angry comment, some of which are angry comments of their own left by more tiny-dicked internet-dwelling cave trolls, some are shows of support for her justice warrior sentiment. 

But she doesn’t give a shit about any of those, because there’s one comment that squeezes her chest and damn near stops her heart. 

It’s a reply from Fi.

_< 3_


End file.
